


Beloved of a God

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, F/M, First Time, Oral Sex, Pagan Gods, Ritual Sex, Trans Stiles Stilinski, Transformation, Transphobia, Trickster Gods, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 07:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7426015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>His brow furrows as he steps closer. He reaches out, and even in this body, his hand feels large on her jaw. “The aid of a god often comes with a steep price. What could you want badly enough to be willing to pay so dearly?” </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>A thousand answers and images tumble through her mind in the moment before she speaks, but what she says is, “To be a real woman.” </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beloved of a God

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have no idea where this came from, but. *shrugs* Here 'tis. BelleAmante and DenaCeleste both enabled, and Belle beta read, so as per the usual, some of the blame can be thrown their way for this. 
> 
> In other news: thank you to everyone for all the support. *hugs all of you* Things have gotten better on the mental health and home fronts, though the physical health stuff is still difficult and scary. Here's hoping the good news keeps rolling in. 
> 
> **Additional Warnings** : So, the "Transphobia" tag. It's up there for a reason, and that is Stiles's internalized transphobia and possible body dysphoria. There are references to transphobic behaviour and attitudes, but none are shown, and Stiles is not, perhaps, the most reliable narrator here given her perspective on things. I promise this has a happy ending, but I don't want anyone blindsided. Fanfiction is supposed to be our happy place.

 

Stiles clutches at her arms. It was warm earlier, but the wind picked up as the moon rose, making gooseflesh prickle her skin with every gust. She starts to shiver, but waits. What she’s come for is too important not to.

Everyone knows that only the desperate dare go this deep into the forest, especially at night. Stiles knows that people have been taken, even kept, by the Fae, that others have been slain by angry or capricious gods, that some have had the misfortune to be eaten by beasts both mortal and less so. But Erica had walked into the Godwood and walked back out blessed, free of the spirit that had possessed her and prevented her from bearing a child.

Her mate, Boyd, had been terrified when she told him what she’d done, but his fear had quickly turned to joy when her belly started to swell.

Stiles shifted from foot to foot. Why she’d come is not quite the same reason Erica had walked into the glade, but it’s not so different. She wonders how long she’s been here, waiting. She will wait as long as is necessary, she just hopes the god appears. To have to walk back to the village the same as she left it . . .

She closes her eyes and focusses on what she wants more than anything, letting the force of her wanting flood her whole being. It’s not quite a prayer, but it’s the best she can do. She can’t speak the words aloud, can’t bear to hear and acknowledge them if the god cannot or will not give her what she needs.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, silent and craving, when she hears him. “And what do we have here? You must be lost—the Godwood is no place for a sweet thing like you.”

Her eyes fly open, and she cannot explain how she knows, but she does: this is a god standing before her. “Thank you,” she breathes.

He tilts his head. “For what?”

“Answering me.”

Sky-blue eyes stare at her, glowing faintly in the light of the moon. “You were trying to summon a god? How presumptuous.”

She forces the tears back, refusing to let them blur her sight. She cannot, however, keep them from her voice. “I know, and I apologize. But I—I need your help.”

His brow furrows as he steps closer. He reaches out, and even in this body, his hand feels large on her jaw. “The aid of a god often comes with a steep price. What could you want badly enough to be willing to pay so dearly?”

A thousand answers and images tumble through her mind in the moment before she speaks, but what she says is, “To be a real woman.”

The god gives her shift and long hair a pointed glance, one eyebrow quirking upward. “Are you not now?”

Her shoulders hunch as she stares at the ground. “No. I was . . . born wrong.”

“Don’t let the goddess hear you say that.”

She looks up, wondering if she’s being threatened or warned, but there’s a smirk curving his handsome face. She’s not sure what that means. “I—I’m not—no one wants me for a mate because I can’t give them a child.”

The god moves closer, and she would step back, because she can feel the heat radiating from his bare skin and she hasn’t been so close to a naked man since she understood she wasn’t one, but she does not dare offend him. “No one?”

She shakes her head, holding herself tightly. “No one I could want back.” When he gestures, she explains, though she does not want to. “There’s one person. She only wants me because she says she can cure me, make me a man.”

When she chances to look at the god’s face, she sees disgust. He proves it’s not for her when he curls his hands around her wrists and pulls them away from her waist. “Your soul doesn’t match your body. It’s a simple enough problem to fix, for a god of my talents.”

Hope chokes her for a moment. “You can make it so I can bear children?”

He frames her face with his palms and kisses her. The feel of his stubble against her skin catches her off-guard, and she gasps. He flicks his tongue inside her mouth, and she wraps her arms around him, unable to feel anything but her lips buzzing under his. When he draws back, he smooths a hand down her spine. “I will do more. I will change your body to match. But,” he pauses and she listens carefully, because she knows that this is it, that he will name his price, “you will need to meet me here again tomorrow night, and the night after. There is much work to be done, and all I require is that you let me teach you of your new body, that you let me be the first to touch you with honest desire instead of deceit.”

Her breath catches, and she can’t speak. His price seems more gift than toll, and her heart may well burst from her chest with how hard it’s beating. She nods frantically, pressing her hands to his back. The god chuckles, and then steps away. She doesn’t understand until he grips the bottom of her shift and starts lifting the hem.

He draws it over her head, leaving her bare beneath the moon, and she’s more afraid now than she was walking into the forest after dusk.

But the god does not mock her. Instead, he twines his fingers with hers, and she watches as the bones shift, as her knuckles shrink and her palms grow narrower. His hands trace over her then, shoulders, ribs, hips, and she can only watch, awed, as she shrinks a few inches, as her shoulders and hips round and her waist narrows. His fingers glide, slow and proprietary, over every inch of her skin, making her body hair thin or fall away, leaving enchanting softness behind.

Just as she thinks that it’s over, that the god has brought all her new skin to thrilling, tingling life, he closes his mouth over the small peaks of her nipples, sending fresh pulses through her. Her back bows and her hands cup his head as he sucks and kneads her breasts into a fullness Lydia would be jealous of. She’s trembling when he stops, and he holds her against his chest until her body quiets.

It’s comforting, she realizes, being pressed skin-to-skin with the god, feeling the heat of him against her. She hadn’t known it could be. Then again, she’s given him everything she was, and in return, he’s giving her all she’s ever wanted. Perhaps finding comfort in the way he holds her is unsurprising.

It’s dark when she returns to the village. No one sees her until the next day, and her breath catches when her father cries, but he assures her that they are happy tears. Everyone in the village knows by midday, and they all have something to say about it. Some call her beautiful, others brave, and some desperate. She doesn’t care.

The second night, Erica, despite a full and heavy womb, walks with her out of the village. Boyd tries to stop her, but the set of her face convinces him it’s futile. She embraces Stiles when they reach the glade, before she leaves Stiles to the god.

When he strides from the shadows, he doesn’t hesitate to strip her bare again. He touches her—breasts and ribs, hips and thighs—as he kisses her until she's hard and aching, ashamed. He sinks to his knees, gripping the new roundness of her behind, as he sucks her into his mouth. It's such a heady, overwhelming feeling that it takes a few minutes before she realizes—he’s not only going to make stars burst under her eyelids, she's shrinking as he suckles, until his forehead is pressed to her soft belly, the tip of his tongue flicking over a delicate nub rather than the dangling flesh she's had her whole life. When it arrives, the pleasure feels sweeter than it's ever been, coaxed by his smirking lips.

He eases her to the ground as she shakes. She feels vulnerable, suddenly, too exposed under the light of the full moon. She reaches for him, whimpering, but he catches her hands and kisses her fingertips before nudging her thighs apart. She bucks when he fastens his mouth on her again, fighting against the grip of his hands on her wrists, but it was foolish to think she could wrestle with a god. He licks and nips until she’s shaking again, crying out.

He blankets her with his body after, the weight of him a soothing pressure against the sparks rippling over her skin. A long time passes before he moves, taking the hand he still holds and guiding it between her legs. She starts crying when she feels what he’s done, the way he’s rendered her soft and open and small, the way women are supposed to be.

He kisses the tears from the corners of her eyes before they can fall. It’s a long time before she’s able to stand and walk back to the village.

On the third night, she makes the trek alone. She’s barely set foot in the clearing when the god appears. Wordlessly, she sheds her shift. He circles her, fingertips trailing across her lower back, hips, belly. “It’s easy to change the appearance of things,” he murmurs. “It’s much harder to change their nature.”

Fear squeezes her lungs, and she opens her mouth to speak, but the god lays a kiss on her lips. “You are a woman. That is your nature, which is why I can do this. But even I cannot fashion something out of nothing.”

His words soothe her fear, but leave her confused. “What does that mean?”

His eyes are an otherworldly blue as he cups a hand between her legs. “Creating life is powerful, and to grant the ability, I need something of equal power.”

Her heart stutters in her chest. “I don’t have anything.”

He takes a step closer, bringing their bodies flush, and turns his head to whisper in her ear. “I do.” She grips his wide shoulders as he teases her remade sex. “There’s precious little more powerful than godseed.”

She stills. The god has been nothing but generous, his hands and mouth gentle as he’s twisted her shape to let her feel at home in her body in a way she never expected she could. Even before he met her in the clearing, she’d never . . . but how many could say they’d lain with a god? Much less a god that was offering their heart’s desire?

So she nods, and lets him draw her into a kiss. He sits on the ground, and pulls her astride his lap, which she doesn’t expect. She drowns in the feeling of his hands on her body, the heat of his skin pressed to hers. Want pools in her belly, feeling deeper and heavier than she’s used to, and she realizes that she’s damp between the thighs.

The god tucks his fingers inside her first, awakening a hunger she's never felt before. She feels a twinge as he plucks something out, tossing it over his shoulder. She doesn’t look, focussing on the feeling of being filled for the first time. He eases inside before he stops, nipping at her collarbone. “Take what you need.”

She squirms on his lap, awkward and uncertain. He pays her no mind, continuing to kiss and bite at her throat and shoulders. She closes her eyes, and thinks of nothing but the god. Of what feels good. It isn’t long before she’s grinding against him, gasping into his ear while he murmurs praise. She peaks before he does, and his hips snap up—once, twice, four times—before she feels him release.

As much as she doesn’t want to move, she doesn’t protest when he lays her on her back. He rests one hand on her belly as the other moves inside her, and she can feel her insides shifting, feel the god’s hands and magic turn his seed into something else. There’s no pain, but there’s also no pleasure—until he draws his fingers nearly all the way out, leaving just the pads inside, massaging something that makes colours, bright and blinding, streak across her vision.

She begs, though she knows not what for. It seems the god does, because he works his fingers inside her, his mouth on her breast and his bulk shielding her until she peaks again with a cry. He soothes her with kisses as she recovers from the most intense pleasure she’s ever felt. She wonders for a moment if it is the newness of her body, or the skill of the god that is responsible.

In the end, she decides all that matters is the way they lie together, spent, between the Earth and moon. What matters is that he has given her what he promised, which was so much more than she had dared to hope for. What matters is that no one can claim she is not a woman, for if they try, they will be gainsaying the gods.

She trudges home near dawn, feeling light and hollow. The entire village, it seems, has risen early to await her return, and all want to hear tell of what happened in the Godwood. She smiles and offers tidbits, but tells no one. It is not for them to know.

Stiles is talking with Erica when she realizes she’s been tricked.

“The goddess—”

“Goddess?” Stiles interrupts. Because if she didn’t meet the god who cast out Erica’s possessing spirit and granted fertility, then who did she meet?

“She came to me in the guise of a wolf,” Erica explains. “I didn’t know it was her until she shed her wolfskin, and stood tall under the full moon. She said she was impressed with my bravery, and that it would please her if I went forth and bore sons and daughters in her honour.”

Stiles feels a creeping cold fill her stomach. “How did she bestow her blessing?”

“She laid her hand on my shoulder and her lips on my brow. Why?”

Stiles shakes her head. Later that night, she returns to the Godwood. She expects to find the god who remade her, but instead, a woman’s voice echoes through the clearing.

“My brother had no right.”

She turns her head to see the goddess Erica described stepping forward, a wolfskin draped over her shoulders. She’s about to defend him, when another voice rings out.

“Not so, Talia.”

The goddess turns, her ruby-red eyes narrowing. “Childbearing is my dominion, Peter. You overstepped.”

The god—Peter—sketches a mocking bow. “It is my very nature to overstep arbitrary bounds. Besides, her plight moved me.”

Talia snorts. “Moved or not, you had no right—”

“Does it matter?” She can’t believe her own audacity, interrupting the exchange between gods, but she says it.

The goddess turns to her, a strange expression on her face. “What is your name, child?”

“Stiles,” she whispers.

“And why did you come to the Godwood, Stiles? Fewer and fewer mortals do, these days.”

She lets the remembered pain and desperation bleed into her voice, across her face. “I came to find you. Your brother found me instead. I will not pretend to know what laws bind the gods, but he gave me the only thing I have ever truly wanted.”

“And what was that, child?”

“For her body to match the soul that lives inside it,” Peter says, voice and touch soft as he crosses the clearing to cup her cheek. “For the truth to shine forth as the light it is.”

Stiles can’t tear her eyes from those of the god who tricked her, changed her, breathed life into her, though her words are for his sister. “I apologize if I offended you, but I cannot regret what he’s done.”

She sees Talia nod from the corner of her eye. “Peter was not necessarily wrong to do what he did. Babes and the mothers that birth them are mine, but transformation and trickery are his. As are you.”

Stiles doesn’t understand that, but she doesn’t argue. “Thank you, goddess.”

“Go with grace, child.”

After the goddess melts into the shadows, Stiles speaks. “You tricked me.”

Peter gives a half-smile. “I spoke no untrue words. I offered you a bargain, and you agreed to the terms. I upheld my end, and you seemed more than satisfied.”

“If what the goddess said is true, it seems you’ve given something that wasn’t yours to give.”

He shrugs. “You came to the Godwood with a soul screaming for release. Does it matter who offered it?”

She tilts her chin up, refusing to let the hands stroking over her body make her mindless. “Yes. I came here seeking the goddess, even if I did not know it, and you sought me instead. Why?”

Peter’s face goes soft as he smiles. “Do you know what it means to be the beloved of a god?”

“No.”

“Would you like to?”

She narrows her eyes, lips curling into a smirk. “That depends.”

Peter looks at her as if she were the god. “On what?”

“On whether you will make me a mother.”

He gasps, and she knows that she will always remember the moment she left a god breathless. “As many times as you want,” he whispers. “You will give rise to a new race of gods, if that is what you wish.”

She kisses him, and swallows his delighted laughter as he pulls her close.

**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't have to say it, don't particularly want to have to, but I'm gonna anyway: transphobia is not welcome here. If you didn't like this, or found it problematic (which, it's _Steter_ FFS) there is a very convenient exit located at the top left, and you are welcome to use it at any time. If, however, you read all the way to this author's note and are just itching to tell me off for some reason, put down the electronic device and walk away.


End file.
